For as long as I can remember, I have always been into the "paranormal" and "supernatural." Not in an actually-believing-in-them sort of way, but have just always enjoyed stories, shows, movies, etc. with such elements and characters. When I was little, I loved mermaids. I wanted to be a mermaid; to be able to breathe underwater, to live in another world that is nearly the last terrestrial frontier, to leave the world of humans behind, if only perhaps temporarily. I grew up in a beach town, and whenever I went to the beach as a kid, I would always spend as much time as possible just swimming and floating around the ocean. Also I've always hated sand because it gets everywhere you don't want it to be, but that's an irrelevant aside.
When I outgrew the mermaid thing, I started being really into a far more objectively terrifying human hybrid creature thing: werewolves. I can't pinpoint where it started, but it was definitely near early middle school, so around age 11-12. My best guess as to when, (and why it started at all), would be whenever I first read Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. If you read/have read Harry Potter, you can probably guess why. If you don't, shame on you. The third installment of the series introduces the character Remus Lupin, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for that year--because it's always someone different each year--that you find out was very close friends with Harry's father and, later, mother. And that he's a werewolf. In case you hadn't guessed that based on what this blog post is about.
I don't know what drew me so into Professor Lupin, but even before his semi-bestial nature is revealed, (at quite nearly the end of the book), I fell in love with his character. He was the first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and in my opinion the only one in the whole series, who was a competent instructor and/or not a total twat. He genuinely cared for his students, and Harry especially, for obvious reasons, Harry being the son of one of his former best friends and all. He was one of the first adult characters, outside of maybe Dumbledore and Hagrid, who seemed like a genuinely good person, who only wanted what was best for his students, and seemed to put them before himself.
Of course, by the end of the book, you find out that he is a werewolf. Hints are dropped throughout the book, such as his boggart turning into a full moon during class when he jumps to protect Harry from it, and his periodic absences from his own classes, but it still took me by surprise. It's not explicitly stated that it's the moon, and his absences are basically just "I wonder what that's about" side thoughts from the characters. And also I was like 12, so you know...I wasn't exactly the most perceptive human being on the planet at the time. Of course, my already-present interest in supernatural themes made me go "Ooooh, that's cool!" except of course it wasn't for him. He lost control of his own mind and body when he transformed if he didn't drink a special, very difficult to brew potion, which Snape had been providing him previously. But shenanigans happen, as they do, and he doesn't drink the potion on the last full moon of the book, transforming at a pivotal moment, which ends up allowing the bad guy to escape. Fuck you, Wormtail, you piece of shit.
Anywho, after all this happens, Snape "slips" out that Remus is a werewolf, and he immediately starts packing the next morning, while looking like hell rained over him because, let's be real, it basically did. When Harry protests, he tells him that he has to go, because letters will be pouring in any time now from angry parents decrying that they don't want "someone like [him]" teaching their children. In the movie version, and through the dialogue in the book, Remus seems only mildly phased by this occurrence, while Harry is extremely distraught, because Harry--though whiny and annoying at many times--is a good kid; one who sees the previous night's events as an accident, and who hasn't changed how he feels about his father's old friend based on what happened. While reading, I was very much on Harry's side. "No, no, no, no!" I thought, "He's amazing! He's just different! He can't control it!" But he still left, and did not reappear in The Goblet of Fire, much to little-me's chagrin. I loved his character even though he was a werewolf.
This ended up, however, not being an isolated incident. A year or two later, I started watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and my favorite character? Seth Green's Oz, who becomes a werewolf not long after his introduction. At this point, I didn't think much of it. I was just a kid, and I really loved supernatural themes and characters in the first place anyway and it just so happened that the two prime examples ended up being werewolves. But I actually started thinking more about it when I became an adult, because I started watching both the UK and US versions of Being Human, a show about a vampire, a ghost, and a werewolf trying to live as normal of lives as possible, despite their afflictions. Guess who my favorite character on both of those shows is. Yeah, the werewolf guy...George and Josh, respectively. And it wasn't the fact that they were werewolves alone, it was their characters in general. Had they acted the exact same but been some other kind of creature, they would probably still be my favorite characters. Also worth noting: Bruce Banner has always been my favorite comic book character, and though yeah, the Hulk isn't a werewolf, it's basically the same thing, only worse...because instead of just transforming on full moons or around them, it happens any time his emotions get seriously out of whack at all, especially with anger. My love of him, by the way, has only been magnified--and intensely so, at that--with the creation of the Marvel Cinematic Universe movies, and the three of them Bruce is in. And in case anyone is wondering, I like Mark Ruffalo in the role more than Edward Norton, but Edward Norton still did well so I really don't feel like having a debate about it, kthnx.
See, here's the thing, though, (especially with Banner): I have so much emotional attachment to these characters, and not the normal kind that everyone has for their favorite character. I mean like, feeling distraught when they feel distraught. Worrying about what will happen to them, wanting to hug them when something goes wrong. After Scarlet Witch fucks with Bruce and he goes all Hulky apeshit in Wakanda and kills a bunch of people in Age of Ultron? Unnnnnnghhhhh my heart broke seeing him sit there, feebly bundling himself in a blanket, as if to hide from what he'd done, even though you know he knows he can't. Like, my chest physically hurt, because I was so emotionally distressed at the emotional distress of a man who doesn't even really exist. And it's that italicized part that got me thinking real hard, not for the first time, why it is that I am so in love with these characters, and whether or not the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde thing had anything to do with it, and if it did, what does that say about me?
There was no point in this self-inquiry, other than sheer curiosity, but I did come to a conclusion: I love werewolves and the Incredible Hulk so much because I identify very strongly with them, when it comes down to it, so much so that it actually can have an effect on my own emotions to an Nth degree.
Now, I am not Bruce Banner. I am not an absolutely brilliant, genius nuclear physicist, bio-mechanist, and basically every other kind of scientist, at all, ever, because holy shit, dude is amazing at everything in that field, (except, ironically given the nature of this post, psychology, given his explanation in the post-credits scene of Iron Man 3). Nor am I Daniel Osborne, Remus Lupin, George Sands, or Josh Leviston...all but one of whom are also said to be extremely intelligent as a point of interest, likely to contrast them so strongly with their "other guys." I'm not brilliant at anything, my intelligence might be above average, but isn't astronomical, and I don't turn into some kind of monster at various times. And I don't have anger issues. So why do I identify with them so strongly? Because my brain parallels their physical transformations and the associated loss of control with mental illness, specifically major depressive disorder and anxiety, since those are my chemically imbalanced homeboys.
Depression is a bitch, as anyone who has it, (and there are more than you think), can tell you. It's not just being sad sometimes, or even being sad all of the time...it is so much stronger and so much worse than that. The way your brain naturally operates is seemingly self-sabotaging, to the point that your head is perpetually a cracked china vase, and though it's holding for now, there will be a day--or many days--when it will fall apart. Whether it falls apart slowly, all at once, explosively, or just lets gravity do its thing is different for everyone, because human brains are complicated as all hell and don't work all exactly the same way. And what it takes to fix it up again is equally varied, as is whether it will fall down again after you try to balance it all again the first time. The point is, you are always on the verge of breaking, whatever form your breakage may take.
Though I wasn't actually diagnosed until I was 24, because I had never had the courage to tell anyone about it, I'm pretty sure I've been depressed since the time I was around 12. I have hated myself for as long as I can remember. I have never liked the person in the mirror, and have always felt she wouldn't amount to much, if anything at all. Anything good that happened to her, she didn't deserve. She was worthless; a fat, ugly piece of dog shit, but only I could see it. To the surprise of probably no one, this resulted in me being kind of a loner basically my entire life. I had a close little group of friends in high school and maintain a fair one now, but being alone has never bothered me. In fact, I've pretty much always felt like I was somehow meant to be alone.
Alright, Drama Queen, when does this become relevant to werewolves? Right now, actually.
The way they are typically depicted, werewolves are normal people who, at select times, completely lose control of themselves, turning into a (usually) giant monster. Though a person with depression doesn't do that, obviously, there are times that you do lose control of yourself, and frequently, it's an occurrence that is out of your hands. You don't really lose control in a physical way, but inside your own head. You're a prisoner in your own brain, screaming to stop whatever it is you're doing, (for me, my depression-triggered break downs are usually a combination of extreme sadness and anger at myself). But you can't, and you don't. You let it run its course, because you don't know what else to do. Werewolves cannot stop once they start transforming. They can't be like, "Oh, jeez, this being a wolf thing is awful dangerous and weird, I better cut that right out." Nor can a depressed person simply chose to end a depressive episode. No, it's not as physically dangerous, obviously, but that doesn't mean it isn't completely safe, either...for you, or for others. At least, that's how you perceive it.
When I have a serious depressive episode, I purposely shut myself in my room, away from my husband and away from my two dogs. I'm not afraid of physically harming them. I am afraid of what it would do to my husband for him to see me like that; of what I know it does do to him, because we've been in this together for a long time now. I feel like an unfair burden on him; like a problem that drags him down and complicates his life. I have convinced myself in the past that his life would be so much better without me around; he wouldn't like it, and he would protest, but it would ultimately be better for him, and his life is more important to me than mine by a factor of approximately a bajillion. Sometimes I let this fear get to me too much, and it dictates my actions.
A common cliche of the werewolf character is that they realize that they are too dangerous to be around those they love, or often around people at all. So they leave, like Bruce leaves at the end of Age of Ultron. Despite still being in his mostly uncontrolled, bestial state, even then he feels he cannot be trusted around other people--around his friends, and around the girl who loves him--so he doesn't turn the jet around, (granted, I don't think the Hulk could have managed that anyway, but that's besides the point). Depression is surprisingly a lot like that. You want what is best for people, especially the people you love. If you have convinced yourself that that means a life without you in it, then so be it. Even if you don't fully believe that, (or you do, but you stay anyway), whenever somethings happens, you feel massive pangs of guilt, because you know they wouldn't have to worry any of it if you simply weren't there, or if you had a way to make it all go away without making yourself go away. You want to help others, not burden them, and not hurt them, physically or mentally. The fictional characters usually reflect this more obviously than real people do: Banner goes to/hides in Calcutta and tries to do what he can to help the people there, which appears to mostly be administering medical aid, (told you this dude is good at everything); not to mention that his gamma radiation experiments were intended to help the world in the long run, (or so he believed. Fuck you, Colonel Ross and Tim Roth). Remus decides to become a teacher, and in the more dire situations in the later books in the series, decides to fight on the side of good, even if it means his life, (spoiler: it totally does). Basically, it comes down to this: You know how shitty your problem is--be it lycanthropy or depression or whatever--and the last thing you want is for it to bring anyone else down, or for anyone else to suffer from it. Isn't fear of biting and thereby transforming someone else typically a huge thing in werewolf stories? Depressed people don't want to see you suffering from being around and dealing with their depression, and to see someone else become depressed feels like a complete failing, even if it has absolutely nothing to do with you whatsoever. Someone else has to suffer through it, not just you. You don't want that. You don't wish it upon anyone.
In the stories, werewolves can try to cure themselves, but rarely succeed. In real life, there are thankfully therapy and doctors to help you with mental illness. But even if you are someone who, like me, has a handle on their mental illnesses and who has a person or people who love and respect you despite it, (Clinton is totes my Tony. Science Bros 4 Life), you still know what that complete loss of control feels like; what the guilt and the fear feel like, in some cases all too well. Maybe this isn't true for everyone, but I think it may well have a lot to do with why I am so attached to these characters, even though I know it's dumb, and that they're not real. Their emotion is so able to feel like my emotion because, to a certain degree, it is.
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